Catalyst
by GeekLoveFan
Summary: Would you believe I'm back at this story after a break over three years long?
1. Default Chapter

**A/N: This is…I don't know what this is. It's a little overdramatic, but I think that is a reflection of the frustration that I'm feeling at the moment. Grissom truly is a dumbass, but I guess it's not his fault. TPTB made him that way. **

Sofia was leaving. I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Granted, she wasn't one of "us." But since Dicklie—er, Ecklie went on his vindictive rampage, there really wasn't an "us" anymore. The team was broken. And she was a good CSI. Odd, but good. And she certainly seemed to have her eye on me, which, I won't lie, felt…nice. When a young, beautiful woman comes along and notices you... Perhaps I shouldn't travel that road.

Bottom line—she was leaving. If she left, my team would go from four (three and a half, really—Greg isn't quite ready to be turned totally loose on his own) to three. You can't investigate all the crime that occurs in Las Vegas on a nightly basis with three people. She couldn't leave. Ecklie be damned.

Thus I found myself standing in my office with a beautiful woman and a dilemma. I simply couldn't afford to lose another CSI. And before I knew what my lips were doing, I heard myself say, "Would you like to have dinner?" When she gave me that coy, oh-so-Sofia smile, I knew it was too late. I couldn't back out. And truth be told, I wasn't sure I wanted to. I needed something—someone—to take my mind off of…again, let's not travel that road.

I gave Sofia a smile and told her to hang on for a second—I needed to drop off a piece of mail at the front desk. She sat down in a chair in front of my desk as I grabbed an envelope and stepped outside my office door—and ran straight into _her._ I stopped dead in my tracks and just stared at her. I didn't even wonder how much she'd heard. Deep in my heart, in that psychic place that everyone has but no one thinks about, I just knew. She had heard it all.

In an instant, a flicker of anger passed over her eyes; then nothing. They were dead.

"Emotionally unavailable, my ass," she said dully, before turning on her heel and walking away. _Shit._

I stood there in shock, watching her turn the corner. A moment later, I felt someone beside me. "Back so soon?" Sofia asked mildly, before glancing down in confusion at the envelope I was still clutching.

I turned to her and told her the truth, rather than any of the number of lies I could have come up with. "Ah…Sofia, I think I'm going to have to back out of dinner. I'm not feeling so well."

"Uh, okay…" she said slowly, in her throaty Sofia way. "Another time, perhaps?"

This time, I lied. "Perhaps," I said stiffly. I knew very well that any desire I had ever had to see this woman outside of work had just been obliterated. The invitation I had just extended had likely cost me my relationship—if you could call it that—with Sara, and although not Sofia's fault, I doubted if I could help but hold it against her.

I watched Sofia walk slowly away, obviously aware that something was amiss. I stumbled back into my office and sank down into my chair, unsure of what to do. A plant was most definitely not going to cut it this time.

A knock sounded on my door. _Catherine._ God, no. Anyone _but._ Inwardly rolling my eyes, I looked up and asked the obvious. "Why are you here, Catherine? You should be home."

"Suspect interrogation," she said succinctly. Her eyes narrowed. Uh-oh. She was on to me. "Gil…" she said, dragging it out. "What's going on? You look…" she considered for a moment. "Dazed," she finished.

"Nothing," I lied, shuffling papers in a pathetic attempt to distract her. I should have known better.

"You know, I hate it when you lie to me. Why do you even bother?" she asked, sitting down in front of me. "What did you do? And so help me God, if this has to do with Sara, I'm getting up and walking out," she warned.

Excellent. Just what I want. "It has to do with Sara," I answered, honestly, for once in my life. I sat back, waiting for her to take the cue to leave.

No such luck.

"Dear God, Gil, what is _wrong _with you?"

"I thought you said you were leaving if it had to do with Sara," I complained.

"I lied. Sue me. Besides, you obviously aren't a big enough boy to take care of things for yourself, so I'm guessing that you'll need my assistance to fix whatever it is you've done this time. We would have lost an excellent CSI three years ago if I hadn't been there to hold your hand and tell you to get the stupid plant," she snarked.

Always the plant. Why did she always have to bring up that damn plant?

She continued. "Speaking of which, what _did _you do this time, Gil?"

I was stuck with this woman. Absolutely stuck with her. I decided to just tell her. She was bound to dig it out of me eventually. "I asked Sofia out to dinner and Sara overheard. She didn't, uh, react well."

I found myself shrinking back in my seat at the look Catherine was giving me. I suddenly found it very difficult to believe that she was having trouble keeping a 12 year-old in line, because she was certainly having no problem at all keeping _me_ in line. Slowly, she rose out of her seat, placed both hands on my desk, and leaned across at me, teeth clenched. "You are…the most unimaginably clueless asshole I have ever met, Gil." Her voice was low and threatening. "First of all, Sofia?" she hissed. "Shit, you really are a dumb fuck for being such a genius, you know that? How could you even dare ask Ecklie's little minion out to dinner?"

"She said she was quitting, Catherine! I'm understaffed as it is! I didn't mean it as a date, for God's sake! I only wanted to go to dinner to try to talk her into staying. She took it the wrong way."

Catherine narrowed her eyes. "And it didn't occur to you that this conversation could take place here at the lab?" She leaned across my desk, invading my personal space. That low, threatening voice returned. "You thought that perhaps some candlelight and wine could help things along? Perhaps you might find the right words to make her stay if only you could get a nice long look at that cleavage she loves to show off?"

I bit my tongue right before I remarked that Catherine had no room to talk in the cleavage department. I'm not _that _much of a dumb fuck.

Instead, I blew out a sigh. "I don't know what you want me to say, Catherine. I honestly don't know what I was thinking. It just sort of slipped out. Besides," I said, suddenly feeling defensive, "what if it _was _an actual date? Am I suddenly not allowed to have a social life?"

Bad move. Catherine clenched her jaw and looked like a pissed-off cat ready to pounce on a mouse. "Gil Grissom…" And with those two words, the anger faded away, only to be replaced by something that sounded frighteningly like hatred. "You are a dick."

She stood up, smoothed out her shirt, and turned her back on me. She walked halfway to the door before thinking better of it. Stopping cold, she dropped her head a bit before turning back to me. The pissed-off cat look was gone; in its place was a cunning fury. She worked her jaw before clearing her throat to speak. "I'm going to give it to you straight, and then I may never speak to you again. Here's the deal, Gil. Sara is in love with you. Not in 'like,' not in 'crush,' not in 'infatuation.' She is _in love with you._" Catherine's voice trembled. "God knows I don't have a clue why, but she is. Why the hell else do you think she stayed in Vegas?"

Isn't _that _the million dollar question.

Catherine continued. "What she feels for you is the real deal. Any normal man would jump at the chance to have something with a woman like that." She paused pointedly. "And you, Gil, are in love with her." I must have opened my mouth in surprise, because she held up her hand and plowed ahead. "Don't bother denying it. Everyone knows it. I do, Brass does, Nick, Warrick, Greg, Ecklie, Doc Robbins, Hodges—_everyone. _Hell, Gil, the fucking _janitor _knows that Gil Grissom is madly in love with Sara Sidle and is too chicken shit to do anything about it. And now you're at a crossroads. You pulled a stupid-ass stunt tonight because you were afraid of losing a good CSI. But in pulling that stunt, you inadvertently just lost a good CSI."

My eyes widened.

Some of Catherine's anger seemed to dissipate. "Yeah, genius boy. She's gone. God knows Sara and I have never been best friends, but I know her well enough to know that something like this is the last straw. She loves you, but a woman can only be shit on so much before she can't take any more. I wouldn't be surprised if she's at home booking a flight out of this hellhole right now. So now you have to decide what to do. Do you let her go? Or…" She trailed off.

"What?" I prodded, numbness overtaking me.

"A plant won't get it this time, Gil," she said softly.

"Gee, Catherine, I don't think I could have possibly come to that conclusion alone. Thanks so much for your help," I snarked in irritation.

With lightning-quick reflexes that did credit to her nickname, Catherine lunged across my desk and grabbed me by the collar. Perfect. The worst day of my life, and on top of it all, I was being manhandled by a five foot two ex-stripper.

"You goddamn idiot," she growled, making my testicles shrink. "You may not give a shit about our friendship, but I'll be damned if I'm going to stand here and watch you break Sara any more than you already have. So you want to know what you have to do? Get ready to shit a brick, Bug Man, because this is going to hurt.

First, you have to go find her and explain that your "date" with Sofia wasn't really a date. Then, if she hasn't planted her knee in your balls by that point, you have to tell her exactly how you feel about her, and I do mean exactly. No beating around the bush. You tell her you love her, that you're sorry for being such a shithead, and that you will do anything, and I mean _anything, _to fix things between the two of you. If you have to grovel, you grovel, and if she slams the door in your face and tells you to fuck off, then you suck it up because you deserve it. Got it?"

And with that, the little red-headed tornado that is Catherine Willows was gone.

She was right. This was going to hurt.


	2. Ch 2

**A/N: Well, uh...WOW. I was totally expecting to get flamed for my drama-fest, and instead I got really positive reviews. Always a happy experience! Mel and Morgan in particular, thanks! I don't think I really like this chapter, but I refuse to sit and wrestle with it for days, so here it is.**

I stood in front of Sara's door, ready to knock. I had come completely unprepared, totally clueless as to what I would say to her. After all, how do you prepare to grovel to the woman you love? I had a sneaking suspicion that a witty, romantic quote wouldn't quite do it.

Steeling myself, I knocked on her door. I was taken aback at how confident my knuckles sounded against the wood. After a moment, I heard some faint noise, and the door swung inward. Sara stood there, and I won't lie. She looked like shit. Her hair was pulled into a loose, messy ponytail—but not the sexy kind. She was wearing some oversized sweatpants and a ratty-looking t-shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath, and she didn't seem particularly concerned with this fact. But none of that could compare to the look in her eyes. They were still dead.

She didn't say a word to me in greeting. Not a "hi," not a "hello," not a "what are you doing here?" Hell, I think I would have settled for a "fuck off, you smarmy bastard." Anything but the dead stare she fixed me with.

I finished my once-over and asked in as gentle a voice as I could muster, "May I come in?"

Again, not a word. She didn't slam the door in my face, she didn't step back and let me in, she didn't stand there and stare coldly at me. Instead, her hands fell to her sides and she turned on her heel and walked back into her apartment, leaving the door standing wide open.

I took that as a yes.

Growing more nervous by the nanosecond, I stepped inside and gently closed the door behind me. Sara had flopped down on her couch where, judging by the look of things, she had been for the last hour or so—since she had left the lab.

There was nothing to do but get it over with.

With confidence that I didn't feel, I strode to the couch and sat down what I judged to be a safe distance from Sara—neither close enough to invade her personal space nor far enough to give the impression that I was distancing myself from her. I spat it out before I could talk myself out of it.

"It wasn't a date."

She didn't move.

"Sofia was threatening to leave the lab and I blurted out the dinner invitation before I knew what I was doing. It wasn't until she responded that I realized she had misinterpreted—" And miraculously, Sara interrupted me.

"So when Sofia threatens to leave, she gets a dinner invite, and when I threaten to leave, I get a fucking plant, is that it?"

And as thrilled as I was to have finally elicited a response from the lips of Sara Sidle, I couldn't help but curse the day I ordered that damn plant. I believe that's what people refer to as something that comes back to haunt you. In my case, that plant was a fucking poltergeist that just wouldn't die.

I sighed in response. "What do you want me to—"

"And what does Sofia have that she merits a dinner invitation, huh, Grissom?" She was starting to sound pissed off. A minute ago, that would have thrilled me; now, it made my balls shrink in fear for the second time that day. Nice. Sara continued, "I mean, I ask you to dinner, and you don't even have the tact to turn me down politely, but she comes waltzing in here, flashes a little cleavage, and suddenly you're putty in her hands? What the hell is that, Grissom?" She fixed her brown eyes on me as the words tumbled from her mouth, unbidden. "Look, I may not be sultry and sexy like Sofia or Lady Heather, but after all we've been through, I think you could have at least let me down gently instead of spitting out a 'no' before I even got the question out of my mouth."

Oh, shit. This was not going well. I had officially lost control. How is it that I can be a supervisor and yet never feel like I'm in control of _anything_? And the Lady Heather comment, well…that just stung. Sara continued. "So tell me, Grissom—what is it that Sofia has that I don't? What is it about her that makes you throw the rules out the window and ask her to dinner?"

It was now or never. "Sara, don't you see? She's not _you! _I can ask her to dinner because she—she's _nothing!_ She doesn't scare me. You…you—you terrify me, Sara," I finished.

She abruptly stood up, gave an uncertain laugh and backed up a step or two. "That's…that's funny, Griss," she said weakly. "I scare you." She huffed a fake little laugh to punctuate the sentence before softly adding, "Nothing scares you."

And the irony of it was that in that moment, for the first time in my life, although I was scared shitless, I grew a pair. I stood up, closed the distance between us, and grabbed Sara's shoulders. I gave her a small shake. "Sara, you just don't get it, do you? The only thing that scares me is losing control. Control is all I have. Maybe…maybe I'm a little like a lab rat," I attempted a pathetic-sounding laugh, "and routine is what keeps me sane. All I know is that when I'm with you, if I stop long enough to think about how you make me feel, then…" I dropped my head in shame as my voice broke. "I lose control."

Deciding that now was not the time for modesty, I jerked my head back up again and faced her. "Sara, I love you. There, I said it. Now you can slap me or tell me to get out or quit your job or whatever it is that you need to do to be happy. But I needed you to know it. I—I'm sorry for everything I've ever done to hurt you. But the fact remains that you just…" I shrugged. "You scare the shit out of me, Sara."

Having said all that, I began shaking. I slowly sank back down onto her couch, letting my head drop into my hands. Hot tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I fought them. I could not allow her to see me cry. After a moment, it occurred to me that she hadn't said a word. I gathered the last shreds of courage that I owned and lifted my head. Sara stood rooted to the spot, staring at the wall across from her as tears flowed silently down her face. Her shoulders shook with sobs that she seemed unwilling to let out. It was a heart-wrenching sight, one that compelled me to stand and hesitantly reach for her. I wrapped my arms tightly around her and pulled her down to the couch. She didn't wrap her arms around me, but neither did she push me away, so that was something, at least.

I let her cry out for a few moments before I remembered all that Catherine had said. I still hadn't told her that I'd do anything to fix things. That scared me most of all, though. Somehow, even the _idea _of asking Sara for the opportunity to right my wrongs seemed…insulting. Hadn't she been through enough? Still, Catherine was right. If nothing else, she deserved the chance to put me in my place.

I cleared my throat as I reached for Sara's chin. Pulling it up, I looked into her wet eyes. "Sara…" I hesitated. Could I really do this? Could I really lay it all on the line? One more look into her swollen eyes told me I had to. "Sara, I just need you to know that I would like the opportunity to try to fix things between us. I know it's a lot to ask, but I'll do anything to make things right." And just like that, making things right was the only thing in the world that mattered. Catherine is a brilliant woman. Suddenly I didn't care if I had to get on my hands and knees and grovel; I would do it for the chance to make Sara happy. "Sara," I pleaded, "just give me one last chance, and I promise I'll do everything in my power to fix this. Anything and everything. Please."

I held my breath, waiting for something, _anything,_ that would indicate that she heard me and was considering it. But for now, she was staring over my left shoulder, and I wasn't sure that she was really there, if you know what I mean. Her eyes were distant. "Sara?"

She snapped back to the present. "Is this about the job, Griss?" she asked dully.

I was truly confused. "What?"

"The job. Are you just trying to keep me from leaving?"

I couldn't help it. I was beginning to get angry. Not with her—God, no. Never. I was angry with myself and my inability to convey my feelings. I was angry that I had evidently screwed her over so badly in the past that she was unable to take me at my word. I was angry at the forces in my life that had made me this way—a closed off, emotionally unavailable old fool. I jumped to my feet and clenched my fists in frustration. No doubt my pulse was through the roof. "Sara, no, it's not about the job. If you need to leave, then leave. I want you to be happy. This is about me being an arrogant asshole for the last five years. This is about me finally realizing that I've been an arrogant asshole for the last five years, and this is about me trying to do something about it. This is about me loving you with everything in me and having no idea how to handle it. This is about me being…being a clueless idiot!" I finished emphatically.

I flopped down beside her once again and took her hands in mine. Lowering my voice, I looked into her eyes as I said, "This is me finally trying to get things right. This is…this is me begging you to give me another chance. A last chance."

Sara sat silently for endless moments until she finally blew out a sigh. In that moment, she looked old. Far older than 33. This is what I had done to her, and that knowledge made me want to throw myself off of a cliff in penance. She fixed me with her eyes, blinked once, slowly, and finally said something. "I don't know if I can do this, Grissom. I have to think about this for a while. Meet me at the diner an hour before shift and…we can…we can talk," she mumbled finally. "For now, I think you should go."

Numbly, I stood. She hadn't rejected me out of hand and yet, it was obvious the emotional damage that I had inflicted ran deep. I realized with horror that I was no better than the men we investigated who beat their wives. I had beaten and bloodied Sara—not with my fists, but with my words and actions. God, I deserved to die.

Sara stood and walked to the door to let me out. As I passed her on my way out, I boldly reached for a hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. "No matter what you decide, I'll understand," I murmured against her soft flesh. "But I need you to know that I can never express my sorrow at how I've behaved."

Wordlessly, she withdrew her hand from my grasp and closed the door behind me.


	3. Ch 3

**A/N: Dedicated to Marlou for being, quite possibly, the nicest, most understanding person on this little planet.**

As you can probably guess, I didn't sleep that day. At all. Hell, I didn't even bother trying. The next eight hours were arguably the longest of my life, and sleep would have been a welcome way to pass the time, but I knew it would be fruitless to try.

Instead, I paced my town house, I vacuumed the floors, I did laundry, and I got out the small shoebox, known only to me, that I kept on the top shelf of my closet. In this shoebox were tiny mementos of better times with Sara: a ticket stub from the San Francisco Symphony, a campus map of Berkeley, a menu from the coffee shop we frequented, a brochure from the San Francisco Botanical Gardens, and the most revered and treasured memento, my $134 receipt from Postrio.

That evening at one of the Bay area's finest restaurants was the only real date Sara and I ever had, and looking back on that wondrous evening and my subsequent fearful behavior, my self-loathing only grew. On the last day of the summer-long seminar I gave at Berkeley, we had gone for our usual post-lecture coffee. My attraction to this beautiful, vivacious young woman had grown steadily throughout the term, and I suddenly had the realization that since the course was complete, I could ask her out without fear of professional repercussions. And ask her out I did. As I finished my first cup of coffee, I leaned back in my chair, fearlessly (so it seemed), and took her in. She was simply stunning sitting there, coffee mug sheltered between her elegant fingers, looking out the window into the distance.

"Sara," I murmured. She turned her head back toward me, tilted it to the side, and raised her eyebrows gently in reply, a contented smile playing on her lips.

"Sara…may I take you to dinner?"

It seemed to take her a moment to realize that I was asking for something beyond the usual. We had been all over San Francisco together that summer; she was my unofficial tour guide. After a moment, she flashed me that million-dollar smile that to this day, I've never seen her use on anyone else. "That would be nice," she nodded.

I glanced at my watch. Four o'clock. Too late for today. "Tomorrow evening?" I asked. She nodded again. "I'll pick you up at seven. Dress nicely."

The next evening, I picked her up at her small apartment at seven o'clock precisely. She looked…devastating. That's as close a word as I can come up with to describe it. I could say stunning, exquisite, perfect, but they would all fall short. Ten years ago, she wore her hair longer than she does now; it fell well below her shoulders, and that evening, she had kept it wavy and pulled it back into a little knot, leaving loose strands to frame her face. The knot was held in place by two little sticks—they probably have some sort of fancy name, but to my untrained male eyes, they simply looked like chopsticks. And the dress she wore…it hugged her curves in all the right ways and still managed to look completely classy. It was a short, black strapless affair that afforded me more of a view of Sara's freckled shoulders and back than I'd been privileged to have up to that point. The hem of the dress stopped three or four inches above her knee and set her bare legs off to perfection. She'd paired the dress with some simple black sandals and subtle silver jewelry. I was breathless, not to mention speechless.

I had no doubt that my date would turn every head in the restaurant that evening.

When I finally recovered my dignity and closed my mouth, I found the breath to make the biggest understatement of my life. "Sara, you look lovely." Right. Lovely wasn't even in the same time zone as this woman.

As we turned to go, I motioned her ahead of me, partly because that's the way my mother raised me, and partly because I wanted to get a better view of her back. I was rewarded for my efforts as I watched her shoulder muscles play under her skin. I would later lie awake nights wondering what she did to keep in such excellent shape. It's to my discredit that I never learned the answer to that question.

Dinner was, needless to say, absolutely delicious, and I don't just mean the cuisine. We talked with the same ease that we had shared all summer, only now there were a few light touches and meaningful glances thrown in. It seemed that the feelings we had been holding at bay for two months were now bubbling ever so slowly to the surface.

It was during dessert, as I was holding both of Sara's hands across the table in my own, that a Berkeley colleague sauntered by the table and everything fell apart. David Graham was a man that no one liked or trusted, but as he was tenured, everyone was stuck with him. It was my good fortune that I only had to endure him for one summer. He was the type of man who was utterly obnoxious in every way—constantly sticking his nose where it didn't belong, making horrible jokes, and generally being an ass. You know the type. And to top it all off, he had no clue that he was despised by all around him. He truly thought he was the belle of the ball.

Graham came up to our table as I was holding Sara's hands, and before I could even say a word in greeting, he elbowed me and gave an exaggerated wink as he said, "Hey, Gil, you never told me you had a daughter!" He threw his head back in laughter at his wit, and when I saw the mortified look on Sara's face, I wanted to crawl under the table. _She's completely humiliated at being seen with me, _I thought. It never occurred to me that she was horrified at his lack of social graces, not embarrassed because of what he had said.

And damn it all, that's when it started. The first seeds of my self-doubt regarding myself and Sara were planted at that moment. The rest of dinner was spent under the umbrella of awkward silences and forced conversation. But looking back, I realized it was all my fault. As we stood to go, Sara muttered, "I can't believe Dr. Graham said that. What an ass." If I'd been doing anything other than wallowing in self-pity and humiliation, perhaps I would have picked up on that as a signal that what he said didn't matter to her. Obviously, for all my big IQ test scores, I'm not so much in the genius department, after all.

Never was that more apparent to me than ten years later, as I sat on my living room couch clutching a worn receipt from Postrio, waiting for the love of my life to reject me or not. I hung my head as I realized that for ten years, I had been blaming David Graham for driving Sara and me apart when the only person to blame was myself—for not being more of a man. Any other man would have stood up and given Graham a piece of his mind, or at the very least, laughed the remark off. Not me. No, my response—as always—was to retreat into the recesses of my mind and shut everyone out.

No longer. As I finally allowed myself the luxury of letting a choked sob escape my throat—followed by a barrage of sobs—I swore to every god I could think of that if Sara would just give me another chance, I would never behave that way again.

Time passed; I've no idea how much. I remained on my couch, crying. It seemed that once I allowed the tears to flow, I cried for every missed opportunity of the last ten years and then some. My tears had all but quieted themselves when I heard a sharp knock on my door. I looked up at the clock on the wall. Three-thirty. It had to be Catherine. Naturally, she wanted to drop by for a friendly little interrogation/ball-bashing on her way to work.

I stood up, the still-drying tears on my face all but forgotten. Unlocking my door, I swung it open as I wearily started, "Look, Catherine, haven't you had enough—"

I stopped dead in my tracks. It was Sara.


	4. Ch 4

**A/N: If anyone is still reading this, allow me to offer my profound apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up. I found this chapter incredibly difficult to write. I don't know if it was the subject material (angst has never been my strong point) or if my muse was just feeling uncooperative, but either way, writing this was a bitch. And on top of that, my life has been extremely stressful and busy lately, both personally and professionally, so writing fanfic was sort of put on the backburner out of necessity. If you're still reading, thanks for hanging in there! I only have a week left of school, and after that, I should be churning out fanfic on a fairly regular basis, as the muse permits!**

Surprisingly, after seeing Sara standing in the doorway, it took me only the barest part of an instant to pull myself together and size her up.

She still looked like shit.

On the surface, she looked all right. She had showered, fixed her hair, applied makeup, and changed into her work clothes. But beneath her work-ready exterior was something else that perhaps only I could see. Because when it comes to Sara—my Sara—I have this sort of sixth sense that's unlike anything else I've ever known. God knows I don't always have that sixth sense turned _on, _but it's there when I need it.

And now, as I took her in, my sixth sense was ablaze. She was most definitely not all right. Her eyes looked puffy under her makeup, and her skin was pale. Her shoulders slumped just a bit more than usual, and the overall look she wore was one of subtle dejection. As my eyes traveled down her body and back up to her face, I was surprised to see that the dullness in her eyes had suddenly been replaced by a look of intent concentration. She was staring at my face. Why was—

Her eyes softened as she unexpectedly reached up and cradled the left side of my face in her right hand as she had done once before. This time, however, when her thumb swept across my cheekbone, its path was lubricated by—oh, god. I had been crying. She had seen the tear tracks on my face.

Before I could recover sufficiently to speak, Sara's voice broke the silence. "You've been crying," she said softly. Her voice was like a lullaby. "Why?"

I stared at her for a moment, not trusting myself to speak and not knowing what I would have said if I _could _have spoken. Finally, in lieu of words, I stepped aside and beckoned her in. If nothing else, I would buy a minute or two in which to compose myself. As she passed me, I turned my back for just an instant—long enough to swipe my hands across my face, ridding myself of any last vestiges of tears. When I turned back around, Sara was sitting on my couch, a stunned look etched into her features. I followed her line of vision until I came to the open shoebox, filled with mementos from that summer in San Francisco. Sara was staring at it intently, her mouth slightly agape.

Perfect. I had just morphed from clueless dickhead boss into psycho stalker boss.

"Sara—" I started.

"Shh," she interrupted as she reached down and delicately plucked the Postrio receipt off of the floor. Licking her lips, she smoothed it out on her lap and gazed at it. After a moment, she gazed up at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "You kept this?"

Without waiting for an answer, she placed the receipt on the table and gently picked the shoebox up, moving it to her lap. She reached her lithe fingers inside and began picking through the contents, placing them on the table one by one. Some items brought a small smile to her lips; some elicited a tiny laugh. When she reached the last item in the box, a brochure from the San Francisco Botanical Gardens, she paused. A long moment passed as she stared at it. Finally, she took a deep breath and reached for it with shaking fingers. As she continued to stare at it, my nervousness grew. I wasn't sure if she was horrified that I would be obsessive enough to keep such small keepsakes for ten years or touched that I had been thoughtful enough to do so. Either way, I had no idea why this one item was evoking such a strong reaction.

Moving stealthily closer, I decided that sitting down would be a good idea. I quietly sat next to Sara on the couch. She was looking into the distance now, and the brochure had fallen from her lap to the floor. A tiny, sad smile played at the corners of her mouth, and I wondered what put it there.

Inexplicably, I felt the need to pick the brochure up, and I reached down to retrieve it. As I did so, Sara's voice broke the silence once again. Her eyes were still fixed on some distant point as she whispered, "That was the day that I knew it was hopeless."

I opened my mouth to ask her to clarify, but before I could harness the mental acuity needed to actually form words, she spoke again. "That day we went to the Botanical Gardens, I—I knew. For the first time, I knew that I was in love with you and that it would never go away." She turned to me, fixing me with her now crystal-clear and focused eyes. "And I was right."

Despite my best efforts not to get ahead of myself, my heart leapt with joy at her words. Once again, however, my cautious side proved itself right as the next words left Sara's mouth.

"But sometimes love isn't enough."

What? No, I couldn't have heard correctly. Surely love was enough. It _had _to be. I'd just staked everything on it.

Sara continued. "You see, Grissom, I've loved you for years. And this morning, you told me that you loved me, as well. And now I'm sitting here looking at evidence that proves that you have indeed had feelings for me all these years. You kept all of these little reminders in a box when most people would have trashed them. And that leads me to my point: sometimes love isn't enough. For all these years, I've been loving you, and you've been loving me, but it still wasn't enough. You couldn't do it," she said sadly, eerily echoing my words to Vincent Lurie.

As I looked at my feet, Sara stood up and ran her hands down the front of her pants. Drawing in a shaking breath and blowing it back out loosely, she said, "And now you want to change all that—to take a chance." I looked up at her and was surprised to see tears pooling in her eyes.

Then came the bombshell.

"But I think, Grissom, that sometimes it's really just too late."

I stared at her, unblinking, uncomprehending, as her voice broke and the tears spilled over. With shaking hands, she slowly bent down and cupped my face. As she brought her tear-streaked face to mine, the world began to spin, and I grabbed her wrists to keep from falling over. As she gently brought her lips to rest against mine, I didn't breathe, didn't move, didn't think. Nothing in the universe existed except for the feel of her mouth, the taste of her lips, the wetness of her breath, and the faintly lavender scent of her.

With a small sob, she pulled away and punctuated her actions with another tiny peck on my mouth. Dazed, I looked up at her as she wiped her tears away. In a tiny, strained voice, she whispered, "I'm sorry," and moved quickly toward the door.

And before I could find my voice, she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Holy crap! I'm back! It's been a year since I have posted/updated/etc. During that time I spent a summer huge and pregnant, gave birth, took some time off work, and now I have a strapping, squealing, wild, 7-month-old baby boy named Dan. My apologies for just…leaving this story as it was. Does anyone even remember me? Hello? Hellooooo:crickets:**

**Thanks to Leslie for the constant support and encouragement in getting me back into the swing of things. Love you, Passion Flower (where the hell did that come from? I don't even remember…). More fiction to come soon.**

**One last thing—remember that I started this story over a year ago—still in the midst of season 5. So for our purposes here, Sofia is still evil and the team is still split in two.**

"_But I think, Grissom, that sometimes it's really just too late."_

The words hung there, suspended. I could almost _see _them. And as I pondered what she had said, my senses flared to life. I could hear a bird chirping somewhere outside. The air conditioning suddenly seemed cold and harsh against my skin, and the light pouring through the front blinds seemed blinding. As I considered these things, I felt my legs moving toward the door, and I watched my hand reach out and twist the doorknob. _'Curiouser and curiouser,' _my brain said.

I opened the door in time to see Sara stepping into her car, her shoulders shaking with pent-up sobs. "Sara, wait!" I shouted frantically.

Something in my voice—the sheer desperation, perhaps—made her stop. She stood frozen, her back to me, with one foot on the pavement and one in her car. Slowly, she turned. Tears were beginning to stream down her face once again, leaving black trails of mascara in their wake. She looked at me, anguish evident on her face. She said nothing, only waited for me to continue.

But now, I was at a loss. What could I say, what could I possibly say that had not already been said? _'Just buy yourself some time,'_ my mind ordered. "Sara, come back inside…please. Just talk to me for a few minutes. Please," I said again for good measure.

There must have been something convincing in my voice, because for whatever reason, she slowly—so slowly—pulled her right foot out of her car, her eyes never leaving mine. The tears continued to flow as she gripped her keys tightly in her right hand and slowly shut the door behind her. She heaved out a huge breath and looked at me warily as she trudged back toward my front door. Desperate, wild relief flooded through my body as I watched her walk. _'Okay, Gil, think fast. What are you going to say to make her stay?'_ Wasn't _that_ the question.

Sara re-entered my house and sat slowly back down on my couch. The tears were slowing to a trickle and she blew out a shaky breath as she looked up at me expectantly. I went for broke…again.

"Sara, please. Please give me a shot here. Please let me love you." My own tears were beginning to flow again. "Please," my voice broke as I reached for her face with trembling hands. Seeing my tears only seemed to push her over the edge once again. She stood up and backed away from me, looking desperate.

She shook her head violently, sobs wracking her body. "I can't do this, Grissom," she heaved out. She sucked in a huge breath. "I can't." She was beginning to lose control, and that…_that_ was scary. I looked at her, wide-eyed and wondering if she was going to disintegrate into full-blown hysterics, and she continued. "It's too late, it really is. I can't do this. You don't know what you really want, even now. You say you want me, but give it a week, maybe two, and you'll be gone again." She was starting to become clearer and more coherent. "One morning you'll wake up, ask yourself what the hell you're doing, and you'll freak out on me. And I," she said softly, placing her hand on my arm, "cannot handle that. I can't have you only to lose you, Grissom." She abruptly turned her back to me. Her voice dropped even lower as she spoke again. "Turns out you were right all along, Griss. It will never work between us."

Something about karma and role reversals rattled through my head as I came to life. I was wholly surprised by the passion in my own voice as I vehemently spoke. "No, Sara! That's where you're wrong. That's where _I_ was wrong. We _have_ to make it work." I grabbed her and spun her around, gripping her shoulders tightly. As I spoke, I shook her gently to drive my point home. "Sara, I'm almost fifty years old, and I have never, _never_ loved like this. Surely a love like this doesn't happen every day. Why…why—" I stuttered, looking for the right words. "Why else do you think I've been scared into silence and inaction for the past ten years? When an emotion comes along that you've never experienced before, one that brings you to your knees and completely takes over your heart, what else is there to do but be terrified? But I'm done with it, Sara." I led her to the couch and pulled her down with me. I gripped her hands as I continued. "Sara…if you don't want to give us a shot because you don't love me anymore, fine. If you don't want to try because you want to leave Vegas, fine. But, if you're holding back because you think I'll leave…" my voice trailed off. I didn't know how to bring my point home. I steeled myself and bored into her eyes. "Sara," I said, my voice low and strong, "I can sit here today and give you my word that I will never leave you. Never. If you decide down the line that it isn't working for you, and you want to go, then do it. God knows I'll probably deserve it. But at least give us a shot. At least give _me _a shot to make you happy. To love you, to give you all of the things no other man ever has." With that, I released her hands and sat back on the couch, emotionally and mentally spent. I stared at my hands, waiting for a response. I noticed a ragged cuticle and began half-heartedly picking at it, waiting for the love of my life to shoot me down…again.

After an interminable amount of time, Sara finally spoke, a tiny, child-like little voice. "I don't know, Grissom," she trailed off. "I love you, I do." At this, I lifted my head and stared into her eyes in quiet surprise. Tears were still trailing down her face, but she seemed much more composed. "It's just that I don't know if I can…" She looked helpless to express herself and utterly indecisive. Then out of nowhere, she rolled her eyes, muttered, "Aw, fuck it," and launched herself into my arms, sobbing once again. "Ok," she whispered into my left ear through ragged gasps. "Ok, let's do it. Let's give it a try." She pulled back and looked at me as she started to laugh, a little giddily, through her tears. She placed a slender, trembling hand over her mouth in shock as the magnitude of her decision weighed on her. "God…" she breathed. "What did I just do?"

I laughed through a small sob of my own as I reached for her hand and kissed it tenderly. "I hope," I murmured, "that you just made the best decision of your life—and mine."

Sara nodded silently, her face serious. She drew in a shaky breath and blew it back out just as shakily. "So," she looked into my eyes, serious. "Where do we go from here?"

"We start from scratch," I said, as an idea hit me out of nowhere. "Tomorrow morning when shift is over,go home and get some sleep. I'll let you know later this evening what time you need to be ready tomorrow afternoon."

"Ready for what?" Sara inquired.

I reached for her once again. This time, I took a deep breath and took her perfect, flawed face into my hands and drew her slowly to me. Our first kiss had been surreal; this one was searing. After a moment, I tore myself away, needing to answer her question.

"Ready to go back and start over."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Wow! Thanks for the positive reviews, guys! I'm glad someone actually missed me, and it's fabulous to be back. I doubt I'll ever churn out fanfic at the rate I once did (I will never, ever, EVER have that sort of time on my hands again!), but I'll try to be more active than I have been! And I'm sorry for the delay in getting this up. The husband and baby and I took a very unexpected trip to Florida this weekend, which effectively put pretty much everything on the backburner!**

After a few more lingering kisses, Sara left my townhouse to go back home and freshen up, and I set to work on my plan. Grabbing my shoebox full of mementos, I headed to my home office and sat down at the computer. This would have to be handled just right—I wanted her to know I was serious about us; at the same time, I had put her through a lot and I didn't want my sudden enthusiasm to scare her away.

A few moments later, I had what I needed: 2 first-class plane tickets to San Francisco and a place to stay. All that remained were two phone calls. Fifteen minutes later, my task was complete and I ambled toward the shower to get ready for work.

----------

The drive to work that evening was…different. My entire vehicle seemed infused with an odd sort of enthusiasm that I couldn't quite place. Naturally, I have always been enthusiastic about my work, as my work has been my only companion for so long, but this was different. This was _personal._

The reality of the entire situation had not fully sunk in, and when it did, I knew that I would become downright giddy, if it is ever appropriate for a man of my age to be giddy about anything. I thought back to my earlier phone call to Catherine, and barely suppressed a full-blown grin. I had called her to inform her that I had done as ordered and managed to emerge with both balls still intact and functioning. Oh, yes, and by the way, she said yes. She is officially mine. Catherine had shrieked, a reaction that, while unpleasant on my ear, was much preferable to the sinister, satanic, act-now-or-I-will-give-Lindsey-a-Grissom-voodoo-doll-for-Christmas Catherine that I had had the pleasure of visiting with earlier that day. I had informed her of my little plan, listened to her "ooh" and "ahh," and begged her to intercede on my behalf with Ecklie for a couple of days.

Yes, it was shaping up to be a good night.

As I pulled into my parking space, I called Sara. "Hey," I said softly. "Where are you?"

"In the locker room," she said equally softly, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "You?"

"Just coming in the building. Meet me in my office in five?"

Sara agreed, and my heart sped up as I started to second-guess myself—as always. What if she laughed in my face? What if she'd changed her mind? What if this entire thing was a complete disaster? _'Stop it, Gil,'_ I demanded of myself. _'Just fucking stop it!' _my mind screamed. Time for me to cowboy up, as Nick would say.

I reached my office door and saw Sara coming down the hall. She smiled shyly and waved her fingers at me as she approached. _'So far, so good,'_ I said to myself. Now, if I could just get the proper words out of my mouth without turning the entire thing into a train wreck. We had an hour before the start of shift, so we had plenty of time, if only I could will my brain and mouth to function properly together.

"Come on in," I beckoned as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. She entered and sat down on the couch, more relaxed than usual, but still slightly guarded, as if she didn't know what to expect. I closed my office door and turned toward her.

She opened her mouth to speak. "I…" she paused. "I don't know how to act," she finally admitted, smiling in embarrassment.

We both laughed in relief. "Neither do I," I admitted. The tension broken, I sat down next to her. "I'm afraid to open my mouth for fear I'll say the wrong thing. I seem to have a habit of doing that where you're concerned," I said honestly.

Sara grinned. "Well…if you start talking and suddenly think you're saying the wrong thing, then just stop and kiss me," she said, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

I laughed. "Speaking of which…" I trailed off and reached for her, drawing her face toward me with my right hand while firmly gripping her waist with my left. My breath grew shallow as our lips touched, and I felt myself become aroused at the sound of the small moan that escaped her throat. Apparently I was doing something right.

The kiss quickly morphed into something primal and unrestrained, and as we slid from the couch to my office floor, a faint voice in the back of my mind reminded me that we were in my office and that our shift was going to start soon. Besides, I chided myself, Sara deserved better than this. Our first lovemaking experience was not going to be a rushed fuckfest on my office floor. No, I was going to give her the treatment that she was worthy of, after so many years of tossing her aside carelessly.

With a reluctant groan, I peeled myself from her lips, breathing hard and willing my erection to just…go away. I winced at the disappointment as much as the discomfort of ceasing our…activities so suddenly. Sara looked at me, the unspoken question in her eyes. "Sorry," I panted. "If we took it any further, I wouldn't be able to stop, and this really isn't the time or place," I said apologetically. I looked down at the evidence of my arousal. "You make me crazy," I murmured, eyes closing. "Look what you do to me."

A small pink flush spread over Sara's face, making her look so lovely that I was suddenly tempted to finish what we had just started, regardless of whether it was appropriate. I managed to restrain myself, however, when I realized that we had a couple of days ahead of us during which we could entertain ourselves freely, with no interruptions. That thought brought me back to the situation at hand, and I sat up, eager to share with her my plans.

"So…I told you earlier that I would let you know what time you need to be ready tomorrow. You need to be packed and waiting at your apartment no later than 3:00 tomorrow afternoon."

"Packed?" Sara said, surprise evident in her voice.

"Yes, packed. Bring enough stuff for three days and three nights, including some nice clothes," I said casually, as if taking Sara away for the weekend was the most normal thing in the world.

"Where the hell are we going?" she asked, her face incredulous.

"San Francisco," I stated simply. Her shocked silence prompted me to lean forward and whisper seductively into her ear, "I told you we were going to go back and start over, Sara." As I said her name, I brushed my lips against her earlobe, caressing it salaciously.

"But…what about work?" Sara looked flustered, confused, and utterly adorable.

"Right. It's taken care of," I said with an air of finality that didn't convey the nervousness I felt about Ecklie's reaction. Hopefully Catherine could put her schmoozing skills to good use in deflecting his questions. And hopefully Las Vegas' criminal element would cooperate by not slamming the lab with cases for a few days. One could hope, at least.

"And, uh…where exactly are we staying?" Sara asked, and I correctly read the question for what it was—an inquiry into the accommodation situation.

"Don't worry," I said, smiling. "I got us a suite with separate bedrooms. I don't want you to feel…" I searched for the right word and finally settled with, "rushed."

Sara raised her eyebrows as she searched for words. "Uh…I, uh…you have obviously, um," she stopped, flustered. After a deep breath, she continued, "Well, you've obviously thought this through, so I'll just sit back and let you drive, then."

Indeed. Being in the driver's seat has never been my forte. That the next few days would prove to be interesting was probably the understatement of the year for me.


	7. Chapter 7

I talked myself off the ledge a dozen times as I made the short drive from my house to Sara's apartment. It wasn't that I had doubts about _my _part in things; it was just that I was certain that Sara would have somehow come to her senses in the intervening time between leaving my office and the present. For the hundredth time, I told my inner voice to shut the hell up, that I was—damn it all—finally taking a chance on this. Occasionally, my inner voice obeyed, and the other times? Well, let's just say that I was getting good at ignoring that dissenting opinion.

I pulled up to Sara's apartment at 2:55, heart pounding. Logically, rationally, I knew that Sara loved me, that she wasn't just going to slam the door in my face; the self-doubt and insecurities, however, were a habit I was finding hard to break. I took a deep breath, held it for just a moment, and blew it back out forcefully as I opened my door and stepped out. I forced myself to walk toward her apartment with a confidence I certainly didn't feel—mind over matter, they say—and I found myself striding with my head up and shoulders back, looking every bit the picture of self-assuredness.

I wanted to kick myself for feeling insecure when Sara opened the door. She grinned and stepped forward, taking my face in her hands and pressed her mouth to mine, firmly yet gently. I felt any residual tension melt away as I breathed in her scent and kissed her back. It was, for her, somewhat of a bold move, but after what had passed between us in the past 24 hours, it seemed apropos. She reluctantly broke off the kiss, and breathed, "Hi."

I could think of no better response than, "Hi yourself."

She released my face, sliding her hands down my face, neck, and chest, as she stepped back and said, "Come on in. I think I'm just about ready." Next to the door sat a small suitcase and a foldover garment bag. She walked over to the couch and picked up a messenger bag, placing her laptop inside it. Slinging the bag over her shoulder and picking up her purse, she turned to me and grinned. "Ready?"

"Indeed," said I, picking up her suitcase and garment bag.

"Thanks," she said as she pulled the door shut behind us. I studied her back as she locked the door. I hadn't paid attention to her attire when she opened the door, but she looked amazing in a simple black t-shirt, jeans, and black flip-flops. Her hair was loose and wavy, brushing the tops of her shoulders. When she turned around and faced me, I was suddenly struck by the incredible difference between her appearance now versus one day prior. She was radiant, glowing. She looked incredibly healthy and happy. _Wow, _I thought. _You make her happy, you moron._ For the second time in five minutes, I wanted to kick my own ass for ever having doubts. But instead of kicking myself, I just flashed her a smile, and said, "Let's go."

-----------

The ride to the airport was quiet and relaxed, much to my surprise. Sara did not ask for details of our trip, nor did I offer. The conversation was light but comfortable. We arrived, parked, and made our way to the check-in desk. I saw Sara's eyebrow rise delicately when the check-in attendant confirmed our first class seats, but again, she said nothing. Our bags checked, we ambled toward security, and then our gate. Boarding would not begin for another twenty minutes, so we simply sat in the boarding area. Remembering my promise to put my past behind me and start fresh, I reached over and took Sara's hand. If she was surprised, she hid it well behind her smile. She leaned in close and whispered, "Having doubts yet?"

Slowly, deliberately, I turned to her and took her face in my hands. I looked deep into her eyes, and they widened as she saw the intensity of emotion in my own. "Never." And it was the truth. My own insecurities were alive and well, but the clarity of my love for her had never been more evident.

----------

Boarding went smoothly and as we prepared to taxi, Sara stretched her legs in front of her appreciatively. "This is nice, Griss," she murmured. "Never flown first-class before." With that, she turned sideways, tucked her legs up underneath her, wrapped her arms around my right arm, and threaded her fingers through mine. She gently laid her head against my shoulder and allowed her eyes to flutter closed. I watched, enchanted, as she breathed in deeply and physically relaxed against me. Rubbing my thumb over the back of her hand, I inhaled the scent of her as she leaned against me. It was amazing how letting go could feel so wrong and yet so right simultaneously.

When our flight landed and we had claimed our luggage, we made our way out of the airport, where I hailed us a cab. "The Prescott Hotel, please," I said, and watched with pleasure as Sara smiled warmly in response.

Our arrival and check-in went smoothly, and soon, Sara and I were standing in our suite. As the door closed behind the bellhop, I mimicked Sara's earlier action and took a giant step forward, sweeping her into my arms and pinning her against the wall. I kissed her hard, and then broke the kiss to whisper, "You are beautiful, and you are beautiful in San Francisco." Allowing my raw emotions to come to the surface was getting easier, and I found that being outside of my Las Vegas comfort zone actually helped, rather than hindered. Sara released a tiny sigh in response, and I resumed kissing her mouth with a hunger that surprised me. She kissed back ferociously, twining her fingers in my hair with a force that was almost angry. I didn't care.

My arousal was growing difficult to ignore, and I pressed myself hard against her, letting her feel what she was doing to me. She ground her hips against me in response, and that was the end of my restraint. I reached for the hem of her shirt, preparing to pull it over her head, when she grabbed my wrist and said, "Wait, stop."

I instantly turned to stone.

"No, no, you don't understand. It's just that I want to freshen up first," she grinned. "Trust me…I'm more than ready to, uh, go exploring with you. I just want to jump in the shower," she said, placing her hands on my chest. I nearly sagged with relief. The conversation was punctuated with a muffled sound as Sara's stomach growled. She laughed and touched her stomach self-consciously. I looked at my watch. "Whoa, it's 8:00. I can't believe I haven't even thought about food," I said.

"I haven't, either, to be honest—until just now, anyway," Sara said. "But I _am _hungry. What do you say go down to Union Square and grab a bite before we…settle in for the evening?" She grinned and waggled her eyebrows comically at me. I grabbed her in a bear hug and dropped a kiss into her hair.

"Let's eat."

----------

We wandered down to Union Square and found a trendy little café with outdoor seating. We ordered brick oven pizzas and draught beer and I watched in fascination as Sara pulled her knees up to her chest, leaned back in her chair, and watched the passerby on the street as she sipped at her beer. She draped an arm over her knees and looked the picture of relaxation as she gazed out into the street.

She was perfect.

I placed my elbows on the table, laced my fingers together, and rested my chin atop my hands as I watched her. After a moment, she felt my eyes on her and looked at me quizzically, a smile in her eyes. "What?" she asked, leaning her head to the side.

I continued gazing at her, silent, with a smile playing around my mouth.

"What?" she persisted, smiling self-consciously now.

"I'm just…taking you in—your beauty, your grace…" I trailed off. I sounded corny.

She, apparently, disagreed. "You're not so bad yourself, Griss," she murmured. "And you already know that you've had my heart for…well, forever," she shrugged.

"As you've had mine," I returned. "But of course, knowing something and knowing what to _do_ about it are two entirely different things, and well…as we've already discussed, I'm trying my best to remedy my past actions…or lack thereof."

Sara put her legs down and leaned forward to caress my arms. "You're doing fine, Griss. I'm not going to run away, I promise."

And there it was. Her simple declaration flooded me with calm, and I was able to release some of the tension I didn't even realize I'd been feeling. I smiled in contentment and relief as I reached across the table to stroke her face.

We finished our pizza and beer, and after I paid the bill, I asked her if she was ready to go back to the hotel or if she would rather walk for awhile.

We had been walking out of the restaurant, and she came to a halt. She turned deliberately toward me and her eyes were smoldering as she said in a low, throaty voice, "I want to go back to the hotel with you."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Oops. I was so anxious to get the last chapter posted that I forgot to include an author's note. For those of you who first saw this story 4 ½ years ago, I want to offer an apology for essentially abandoning it. When I began this story, I was pregnant with my first child and thus had a fairly decent amount of time on my hands. I now have two children (four and two), I still teach full-time, and I'm incredibly active in my community, so time is at a premium for me. When I first started writing fanfic, I churned out a chapter a day a lot of the time, so I ask you to bear with me, because that'll never happen again. **** At any rate, I'm happy that the new chapter was well-received, and I'll do my best not to leave anyone hanging again. And as always, my stories will NEVER be held hostage to reviews. Review if you like, but I'll keep writing nonetheless! Thanks!**

Sara and I stood in the elevator at the Prescott Hotel, shoulder to shoulder, hands tightly clasped, bodies rigid. We didn't speak. The tension rolling off of Sara's body was palpable, and I would imagine that she was getting the same vibes from me. It wasn't as though either of us was unsure about our part in things; it was just that the imminent act was a daunting one, after so much build-up. Every cell in my body ached for her, but at the same time, my heart was pounding not in anticipation, but terror. I had waited for this moment for so long, never truly believing it would actually happen, that my mind had built it up into a transaction that I wasn't sure our bodies could cash the check for. Granted, there was absolutely nothing that could happen that would change my intense feelings for Sara, but I wanted this act to be an accurate portrayal of my love for her. And—and this was the tough part—I wanted to make sure she felt no pressure whatsoever, but it was hard to guarantee I could pull that off, given my immense physical desire for her.

We exited the elevator and headed for our room, still silent. I keyed open the door and we stepped inside. Wanting to break the tension and help quell the nervousness we were both feeling, I turned to her, took her face gingerly in my hands, and kissed her slowly, gently. Sliding my right hand around to the back of her neck, I parted her lips and deepened the kiss. Our bodies responded, and I felt our breathing deepen. After a moment, Sara pulled away, ruefully. She ran a hand down my face and murmured, "I'd still like to freshen up, if you don't mind. A hot shower will help calm my nerves a bit."

"Of course. But, Sara, if you're nervous—if you're unsure about this—"

She cut me off. "Griss, I'm not unsure in the least. It's just," she paused and her cheeks reddened. "Well…you know, there's always a little nervousness the, uh, the first time with someone new…at least, for me…." She trailed off and shrugged her shoulders apologetically.

I smiled gently at her. "I know exactly what you mean, honey. Go take your shower. I'll be waiting. But remember—" I placed my finger on her lips—"If you have any doubts at all, you can tell me. We don't have to do this tonight."

Sara smiled, kissed my mouth quickly, and said, "I know," as she turned and headed for the bathroom.

----------

As Sara grabbed a bag and disappeared into the bathroom, I was left wondering what to do with myself in the intervening time. My first thought was to turn on the TV, but after flipping through fifty channels of nothing, I realized that was a lost cause, and turned the TV off with a frustrated sigh. Throwing the remote down, I wandered toward the wet bar. I poured myself a quick shot of Maker's Mark and threw it back. It tasted so good that I went for a second shot. After a moment, the warmth of the bourbon began to spread through my veins and I felt much more relaxed. I figured there was a fine line between 'relaxed' and 'drunk,' and I didn't want to cross that line, so I stopped there.

I decided that perhaps some oral hygiene was in order, so I made my way over to the second sink just outside the suite's main bathroom. Digging through my toiletry bag, I located both my toothbrush and my small bottle of Listerine. I brushed my teeth until my gums were nearly bleeding and then rinsed with two huge swigs of Listerine. Aware that I might be overdoing it, I forced myself over to the window to sit and look out over the beautiful San Francisco skyline.

I sat in an overstuffed easy chair and forced myself to breathe deeply while appreciating the beautiful view before me. I leaned back and looked out at the lights, breathing in…out…in…out.

After a few minutes, I heard the bathroom door open. I took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly, as I rose from my seat and turned slowly to look at the woman behind me.

She was stunning.

Sara stood there in an off-white satin chemise that came to mid-thigh. She had not a trace of makeup on, and her hair was damp and wavy, framing her face.

I breathed in as I looked her over. She had a small, shy smile on her face as she stood before me, and I suddenly felt absurdly overdressed in my polo shirt and khaki pants. I took a step toward her, hesitantly, as if afraid I would scare her off.

There must have been a chill in the room, because I could clearly see the outline of her nipples through her chemise, and it was my undoing. Seeing my desire for her wiped the shy smile right off her face, and as her expression morphed into raw, naked need, I closed the distance between us and gripped her sides with passion. The feel of my fingers splayed out across her ribcage must have been fuel for the fire burning within her, because as I pressed my lips to her neck with as much force as I'd ever used with any woman, her fingers tangled in my hair with even more violent force than she had used earlier. It seemed as though the nervous tension we had both experienced earlier had been burned away by a fire that was too hot to be extinguished now.

Finishing with her neck, I moved back toward her lips as my hands gripped her sides with a ferocity that made clear my fear that she would simply slip away. Her hands wound around my neck and pulled us closer together, if possible, as our tongues dueled within her mouth. She tasted exquisite, and I never wanted to stop kissing her, but after a moment, she pulled back, smiling, and propelled us toward the bed.

"Perhaps we'd be more comfortable there," she murmured.

"Perhaps so," I replied under my breath, yielding to her hands as she pushed me back. I sank down on the bed, pulling her with me. She straddled me as I lay back, and it took all of my restraint not to simply divest her of her clothing to get to the prize beneath. I was determined to let her call the shots, although I honestly questioned my ability to follow through with that plan.

Luckily, I didn't have to worry about that for long.

She crouched above me, straddling my crotch, pressing herself against my arousal, as she kissed my mouth hard. Growing impatient with my restraint, she placed my hands on the hem of her chemise, indicating that she was ready to proceed.

And as much as I was absolutely dying to get on with the show, I couldn't resist teasing her a little, now that I knew that she was ready and willing. I gripped her chemise in my hand and pressed my hands to her sides once again, but with my mouth I dove into her chest, taking her left nipple between my teeth. Once I heard her gasp, I gave a small tug as I nibbled gently, and pressed my tongue against the soft satin, saturating it. She gave a deep moan as I worked over her nipple through the fabric, and I found it hard to stay the course, but I was determined to draw this out as long as possible. I moved to her right breast, giving it the same treatment through the thin cloth, until I was sure I couldn't stand it anymore. I moved back to her mouth, kissing her passionately as I began to move my hands, still clenched around the satin hem, up her sides, preparing to remove the chemise.

Sara was still atop me, and I wasn't comfortable having her on top for such a monumental moment, so as I raised her chemise, I flipped her over. Once I was hovering above her, I continued with my upward motion, and I breathed in lightly when her breasts were exposed. She was, as I had imagined, perfect in every way. I took her in as she watched my face, and the desire reflected there pushed me over the edge. I ripped the scrap of fabric over her head and threw it aside, leaving her clad in only ivory panties. My breath caught in my throat as I took her in. There was no possible way I could be so unimaginably lucky, that a woman like this could desire me. But apparently, I _was_ that lucky, because Sara chose that very moment to decide that I was rather over-attired for the moment, and she reached for the hem of my polo, and proceeded to pull both it and the underlying white t-shirt over my head roughly.

Once my shirt was off, she pressed her lips gently to my chest, and I buried my face in her hair. It was damp and smelled clean and fresh. My need was becoming unbearable, and I started to fumble with my belt, only to find that Sara was one step ahead, as usual. Her hands stilled mine, as she deftly removed my belt and unbuttoned my khakis. Pushing my pants down my legs, she smiled up at me as I kicked them off, leaving us both in only our barest undergarments.

I focused on the little gap between her teeth as she softly said, "Griss…I'm ready, and I need you."


	9. Chapter 9

My head was spinning as I struggled to convince myself that this was really happening. I saw no trace of doubt or fear in her dark brown eyes as I gazed down at her, and I found that my desire had become almost overwhelming. I grabbed her panties and yanked them down roughly, my eyes never leaving hers. I then grabbed the waistband of my boxers and shoved them down, kicking them away without looking.

I focused on her face, rather than the heat our bare bodies were creating. I wanted to sear this moment into my mind so that I could remember it forever, regardless of what happened in the future. I pressed myself down on her, only to realize that we were lying atop a completely made bed. I imagined that the sheets would be far softer than the hotel bedspread. "Hold on," I whispered as I moved to pull down the covers. Sara twisted around to watch me, and when I pulled the comforter down and turned back around to face her, I got my first full view of Sara's naked form.

My god. She was exquisite. I could barely restrain myself from being too rough as I grabbed her and pulled her toward the head of the bed. I settled her against the pillows and then leaned on my left arm as I took her in. She graced me with a tiny smile as she watched me adoring her body. Gently, she reached toward me with her left arm, cupping my face. "Come here," she whispered as she pulled my face toward her. That broke my reverie, and I kissed her hungrily, sucking on her lower lip. I snaked my left arm underneath her while I explored her breasts with my right. She slung her left leg over my hip, pulling me toward her impatiently. Apparently she was done with foreplay. I rolled over on top of her, positioning myself between her legs. I opened my eyes to see her beneath me, looking up at me with ravenous eyes. I couldn't wait any longer. I slid into her, easily, as if we were two pieces of a puzzle, locking into place. I listened in wonder as a small moan escaped her lips. We began to move together, slowly and gently at first, and then becoming more frenzied as our hearts raced and our breaths became ragged. Time passed; it would be impossible for me to say how much—whether it was mere minutes or a longer stretch of time, I couldn't begin to say. I was trying very hard to control myself, reciting insect orders, and then families in my head to keep myself from exploding within her. At last she gasped and arched up beneath me, gripping my neck in a way that no woman ever had before. My heart raced as I realized that every fantasy I'd ever had about Sara Sidle paled in comparison to this incredible reality. My self-control officially ran out when she started panting, "More, oh, god, Griss…more," and I moaned in pleasure as I came into her.

I collapsed beside her, and we lay there in silence, panting, for a moment. It had been more amazing than I could have possibly imagined. Sara was the first to speak. "I love you."

I turned to face her. Sweeping my thumb gently across her cheekbone, I looked deeply into her eyes as I said, "And I you, my love."

She settled into my chest and we drifted off to sleep.


End file.
